Even Bathroom Ghosts Need Company on Christmas Eve
by starryskiesx
Summary: It's Christmas Eve and everyone is down at the Yule Ball. Everyone except Myrtle, that is. But everything changes when she receives an unexpected visitor to her bathroom. Have things finally started to go right for Myrtle? Or is it just her imagination?


**DISCLAIMER: This story was inspired by 'Wrocking around the bathroom stall' by the Moaning Myrtles.**

**Here's their myspace: ****.com/themoaningmyrtles**

**And here's a link to the song if you want to listen to it, which I suggest you do because it is a very good song: ****.com/fadedown/music/8yIq6fnf/the_moaning_myrtles_wrocking_around_the_bathroom_stall/**

**Oh and I don't own Myrtle or anything to do with the Harry Potter world**

Myrtle sighed loudly from her perch on the windowsill. She had always hated Christmas time. All that wretched yuletide joy and goodwill always had a tendency to dampen her spirits. Not to mention the biggest perpetrator of all: love. All the happy couples, who seemed to find each other around this time of year, parading through the halls made her sick to the stomach. She convulsed at the thought.

The tinsel and mistletoe that the headmaster had suggested be put up did little to improve her mood.

She groaned as the sound of music coming from the great hall drifted up into her bathroom, the sounds of students laughing accompanying it. Yet another school function had come and gone without Myrtle's invitation. This one was something called the 'Yule ball'. She had heard some fifth year girls gossiping excitedly about it by the sinks a few weeks before the dreaded event.

"Who do you think will ask you?" One had asked.

"Oh, I don't know. How great would it be if _Harry Potter _asked me?" The other squealed. It was at that point that Myrtle had chased them out.

She sighed again. _Harry. _Myrtle couldn't deny it: she _had _had an inkling of hope that the boy-who-lived would have asked her, but no. He was going with that ghastly Granger girl.

Myrtle leant her head against the glass of the window, being careful not to lean too far so she didn't fall out. She had to admit, the smooth, calm sound of the music that was playing was quite nice. Soon enough, she found herself floating around the stalls in slow, lazy circles, her arms wrapped around herself in a sort of lonely embrace.

A loud clanging coming from the door snapped her out of her trance. She froze and everything was quiet.

"Harry?" she called out tentatively.

"Grant, actually," a voice said, causing Myrtle to jump a few metres in the air. "But Harry's fine too."

Myrtle's face twisted in anger. "Get out!" she shrieked. "This is my bathroom! Get out! Out, out, out!"

"Hang on, hang on," Grant said and came out from behind the wall, his hands raised in surrender. He was dressed in fancy black pants and a white shirt, his waistcoat and bow tie undone. His hair was evidently once neat, but was now tussled in every direction.

"I just really have to pee," he said.

"Then go to the boys' toilets!" she shrieked.

"But that's all the way on the fourth floor!" Grant whined. "I don't know if I can last that long," he finished seriously.

Myrtle frowned, scrutinizing him. "Fine," she finally said.

"Thank you," he said and rushed to the closest stall. Preferring not to be a witness to his 'business', Myrtle drifted over to the other side of the bathroom, where she folded her arms and fumed to herself.

A few minutes later, a flushing noise was heard. The toilet gargled and spluttered as it hadn't been used in some time. Myrtle watched as Grant walked over to the sinks and failed to turn the tap on.

"That tap doesn't work," she informed him.

"Oh. Right," he said and moved to the next one. "I like what you've done with the place," he said as he washed his hands. "Very…Christmassy."

"It wasn't my idea. Dumbledore thought my bathroom wasn't cheery enough. What does it matter to you anyway?"

Grant shook his head dismissively and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Why aren't you at the ball?"

"Why aren't you leaving?" Myrtle snapped.

"I've got nothing better to do."

"Well why aren't you going back to the ball?"

He shrugged. "Living girls bore me," Grant said and looked up at her. She glared back down at him, infuriated by his arrogance. She decided she'd had enough and retreated to the safety of her toilet with a splash, willing him to go away.

"Oh come on Myrtle," he called after her. Myrtle closed her eyes and pretended he wasn't there. "Myrtle…" he said softly. His head was right above her now, looking down. "I can't imagine that you're very comfortable down there, so why don't you come up here and we can talk?"

"What do you want with me? Can't you just let me be dead in peace?"

"Even bathroom ghosts need company on Christmas Eve," he said simply.

"Jesus Christ," she muttered under her breath and rolled her eyes. She floated out of the pipe and into the ground. Grant looked around as she disappeared, but she reappeared moments later just behind him.

"Here. What do you want?"

He shrugged. "I dunno…how's life treating you?"

"Was that supposed to be funny?"

He cringed. "No, that's not what I meant!" he sighed. "maybe I should just not say anything."

"Finally!" Myrtle exclaimed.

A silence fell in the bathroom, filled only by the soft music coming from downstairs. Grant shoved his fists in his pocket and rocked back and forth. Myrtle watched as he did so, a frown on her face.

"Hey, you want to dance?" He finally asked.

Myrtle raised an eyebrow. "You're kidding, right?"

"Well…no…"

"Wouldn't you much rather dance with a _real_ person downstairs?"

"You're real, Myrtle." Myrtle scoffed. "What? You think and feel, just like any other person."

"Yeah, but I'm dead."

"Of course you're not. You don't have a body, sure, but you're not dead. Come on…it won't kill you," he added with a sly grin.

"Ha ha. Very funny. Alright, fine." Grant grinned and stood in the centre of the bathrooms, giving a small bow. He held his arms up and waited. Myrtle rolled her eyes and drifted towards him.

She placed her hand on his shoulder and the other inside his. Grant gave an involuntary shudder. Myrtle immediately stood back.

"If you're going to be like that—"

"No no, I'm sorry. It just surprised me. Here, I won't do it again."

Myrtle looked at him suspiciously before finally resuming her position. To her surprise, he was delightfully warm.

"So are we just going to stand here?" Grant asked.

"Oh. Right. I don't really know how to dance…"

"Well…you just float around. Like you were doing before."

Myrtle tensed. "You saw that?"

Grant chuckled. "Just a little."

They began to sway together to the music. Myrtle actually found herself enjoying it. All thoughts of Harry, the Yule ball, death, and every other thing that was bothering her left her mind until there was nothing but her, the music and Grant. Grant…this mysterious stranger. The first person who had ever taken an interest in her. The first who had ever even bothered to have a conversation with her. But why? Why now was someone finally paying attention to her?

Myrtle shook her head slightly. She was questioning things again. Something good was finally happening to her and she was trying to find a reason why it shouldn't have been happening. She decided to just let events unfold as they would and enjoy herself for one night.

The song came to a close, and Grant stood back, giving a small bow.

"Thank you, Myrtle. You dance exquisitely," he said in an over the top manner.

Myrtle couldn't help but to smile. "Thank you…Grant."

"Ah…Myrtle…I have something to say," Grant said nervously, his head lowered.

"What is it?"

He looked up, at her, his eyes stony and cold. "I think you should go back into your toilet and never come out," he said. Myrtle stepped back from him, looking at him in confusion. "No one wants to see your face. You're just fat Myrtle ugly Myrtle, miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle."

"What are you saying?!" Myrtle cried, jumping away from him.

"Fat Myrtle," he repeated, but this time, more voices had joined. Three boys and two girls came out from behind the sinks to join in the chorus of "Fat Myrtle, ugly Myrtle, miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!"

"Did you think that Grant actually liked you?" A boy taunted.

"Yeah, who would ever like ugly, miserable, moping, Moaning Myrtle?" One of the girls jeered, pulling a face.

Tears started to run down Myrtle's face. "Grant…" she whispered softly.

"She's not even real," he said coldly, sneering.

Myrtle bit her lip to stop it from trembling. "I hate you, Grant! I hate you!" She took one final look at Grant before executing a huge wail and diving headfirst into her toilet. She sat in the S-bend, holding her knees to her chest and shaking with sobs.

"Nice one, Grant!" she heard, along with the sounds of high-fives being exchanged.

"I didn't think you would pull it off!"

"Yeah," Grant said nonchalantly. "Come on, I'm bored. Let's go." Myrtle listened as the group exited the bathroom, laughing and cheering.

"Merry Christmas, Myrtle!" she heard one girl call back as they closed the door with a slam, leaving Myrtle all alone.

Slowly, she came out of her toilet and drifted towards the sinks.

And then, she did what she always did. She slowly turned each of the taps on full and left them running.

Things were as they had always been.

She was a fool for thinking that things would change.

She would always be fat, ugly, miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle.


End file.
